


The Sorcerer and The Trickster

by Luna_Hart



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Meet-Cute, One Shot Collection, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:13:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Hart/pseuds/Luna_Hart
Summary: A collection of one-shot stories featuring our very own Sorcerer Supreme and the one and only God of Mischief





	1. Stars In His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> It was brought to my attention that there wasn't enough stories of this pairing out there (and that apparently I have a knack for writing them) so I decided to fix it. I couldn't come up with a long plotted story but have a few of ideas for one-shots.
> 
> If you have an ideas that you'd like to see turned into written reality, either slash or platonic, please comment and I will do my best to work some magic!!

Stephen Strange woke with a start, a cry lodged in his throat, the echoes of pain tinging down his hands and out through his fingers. His scars ached fiercely. He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply, focusing on the way his lungs expanded against his chest. He felt the walls of the room breathe with him. The New York Sanctum was old, so old that magic itself had long since seeped into its stone, becoming part of the building’s very foundations. Strange could feel it reach out to him, surrounding him with calming waves and soothing feelings.

A few more breaths and his heartbeat slowed. His muscles relaxed and the last lingering wisps of the nightmare melted away. He opened his eyes. The room was dark. Long shadows danced with the pale moonlight that seeped in through the curtains. He could just make out the barest outline of the closet door, the large oak desk in the far corner, the fireplace whose embers had long since dwindled to ash.

The empty other half of the bed.

Stephen didn’t panic. He was used to his lover’s late night wanderings, fuelled by either disturbing dreams or haunted memories. He always found his way back eventually, seeking to warm icy skin with a warm embrace; skin often chilled by something other than just cool night air. But the night wore on and there were no soft footsteps out in the hall, no telltale creak of the door being pushed open. Stephen frowned. The city outside the windows was already beginning to wake, the soft roar of traffic steadily growing louder. Before long the sun would creep above the roofs and the day would begin.

And still the other half of the bed lay empty.

Stephen closed his eyes, fingers seeking the sling ring that was always close by, and focused in and out. He flew through the Sanctum with his minds eye, searching. Finally he sensed the spark he was looking for, a bright swirl of effervescent green light.

With a sigh, he shoved back the covers, wincing as his feet touched the cold wood floors. He stood, reaching out again with his magic. A familiar vertigo-like sensation assaulted his insides and then he was standing in the relic room.

He found the subject of his search quickly, sitting crosslegged on a nearby table. He was facing away, back concave with knees supporting elbows as he hunched in on himself. Stephen smiled fondly at the man’s cat-like behaviour. He crossed the room softly, rounding the table with a wide birth as to not startle the other man. Long raven hair hung down, obscuring his face as he started down at his hands. “Come back to bed,” Stephen said gently. “Where did you get this?” the man whispered, as if he hadn’t heard him speak.

Stephen frowned, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. “I don’t—,” he began. _Understand_ died on his tongue as bright green eyes flicked to meet his, sharp with pain and accusation. It was a look Stephen hadn’t seen directed at him in a long time. “Where did you get this?” Loki asked again, slowly. His voice was laced with iron and ice. Stephen took a step closer, finally able to see what it was the man held in his hands.

It was a necklace.

The silver pendant was masterfully carved with delicate flowers and leaves. Intricately inlayed silver wire twined and looped around a geometrically cut white gemstone, which winked with multicoloured fires. The chain was another work of art, pooling like silk through the man’s fingers.

“I don’t know,” Stephen replied, leaning against the table as he stared at the stone. “It’s always been here. Why?” The silence was so loud it seemed to echo through the room. Stephen waited patiently. The silence stretched like an elastic between them and finally it snapped.

“It was my mother’s,” Loki said softly.

“Really?” Stephen said in surprise, leaning in closer to get a better look at it. Loki hummed in affirmation, turning the gem over in his long fingers. “I remember her wearing it when I was little. And then one day, she didn’t have it anymore. Said she lost it.”

“It’s a beautiful necklace,” Stephen admitted, admiring the obvious master level craftsmanship. “It’s not a necklace,” Loki said softly. “Not really. I mean, she had it turned into a necklace but that wasn't it’s true purpose.”

Stephen waited for Loki to explain further but he said nothing. Instead he cradled the pendant in the palm of his hand and spoke a word Stephen didn't understand. The sides of the pendant folded out, like petals from a flower. Another whispered word, accompanied by a spark of green light, and the gemstone began to glow. 

He watched in awe as a flood of white light bloomed from the gem and slowly filled the room. The sparks of multicoloured fire swirled and settled, finally revealing their shape. Stephen stared in unbridled amazement. Suspended above them, in all it's glory, was the night sky. This was not, however, the sky Stephen was used to seeing. No, this was something different entirely. Huge nebula clouds floated above his head as foreign galaxies swirled and shone. Stars twinkled all around them as distant planets spun on their axis. 

It was beautiful. 

Stephen could find no words to describe it. He simply turned to the other man in wonder. Loki’s face was upturned, eyes reflecting the stars around them. “Whenever I couldn't sleep,” the dark haired man said softly. “She would bring this into my room and tell me stories of the Old Gods and their conquests.” He swallowed thickly, words choked off by the memories that threatened to spill from his eyes. 

Stephen reached out a hand, placing it gently on Loki’s knee. The man blinked rapidly, taking a shaky breath. He met Stephen’s gaze for a brief moment. “I—,” he began but cut himself off, glancing away as he swallowed the rest. 

 _—miss her_.

The unsaid words hung in the air between them, heavy and hollow. Stephen knew the man would never say them out loud. That would be too much for his fragile ego, his unending need to always be in control, to always be one step ahead of everyone else. To seem untouchable. This was the closest he had ever seen the former Prince come to breaking down, to letting his inner most walls down. 

He squeezed the man's knee, quietly allowing him to gather his composure. After a moment, Loki closed his hand around the gem and the projections faded. He unfolded his legs gracefully and hopped off the table, moving to put the necklace back in its display case. “Keep it,” Stephen said softly. Loki froze, his hand half extended. He turned to him, eyes sharp and brimming with contempt. If there was one thing that Loki hated, it was charity. He would refuse a helping hand on principle alone if he thought it was given with pity. Stephen could feel the icy words building on the other man’s tongue. 

“Don’t start,” Stephen sighed. “It's too early for one of your hissy fits.” Loki’s eyes flashed as his muscles tensed. “Excuse me?” he growled. “One of my _hissy fits_?” Stephen just rolled his eyes. The man was so tetchy. Maybe he had been a cat in another life. He just looped a long arm around the man’s stiff shoulders, pulling him close.

“Just come back to bed,” he murmured in his ear. 

He felt more than heard Loki huff, the tension mostly draining from his shoulders. He muttered something unflattering under his breath but allowed Stephen to bend space around them and materialize them both back to the bedroom. 

Stephen slipped under the covers, waiting until he heard the rustling of sheets beside him before rolling over. He folded himself behind the other man, tangling their legs together. Loki hissed and pulled away, slapping at the sorcerer’s hip. “Your feet are like ice,” he snapped testily. Stephen took no offence and only slide closer. “That's what you get for making me chase after you at all hours of the night,” he chuckled softly into the back of Loki’s neck. 

“I never asked you to,” Loki snapped crossly, pushing the sorcerer away once more. He was now poised at the very edge of the bed. Nowhere else to go if he didn't want to bruise his dignity by falling out of bed. Stephen stifled a sigh. His lover was much an island, such an impregnable fortress of a man, so used to fending for himself he often forgot that there were people around him who cared and were not looking for any gain in return.

“You didn't need to,” he murmured. 

Loki didn't move. If not for the soft rise and fall of his shoulder, he might not have even been alive. Stephen closed his eyes, knowing the other man would eventually relax. He just liked to make a fuss about things first. Slowly, Stephen felt the tension in the air around the other man disappear. He slide forward, pressing himself up against the other man’s back and wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. 

He felt Loki shift as if pulling away but settled a moment later. Light bloomed under Stephen’s eyelids and he looked up into a swirling sea of stars. He lifted his arm a little as Loki rolled over, setting on his back. Stephen stole a look at the other man, but Loki kept his gaze upwards, fixed on the projection overhead. 

“Do you know the tale of Kvasir and the birth of poetry?” Loki asked quietly into the purple-hued darkness.

“Tell me,” Stephen murmured. “Long ago, in a time now forgot except by a few,” Loki began, voice soft and husky. Stephen hid a smile against the other man's shoulder. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the soothing voice, under the Asgardian night sky. 

 

 


	2. 4AM Knows My Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you ever dream about it?"
> 
> "About-?"
> 
> "The accident."

“Do you ever dream about it?”

Stephen glanced up from his book to stare at the back of the other sorcerer’s head. The dark haired man looked for all intents and purpose to be absorbed in the text he was translating. His shoulders were hunched as he leaned over the desk, an ancient Asgardian tome laying open before him.

“Pardon?” Stephen said, slipping a finger between the pages of his book to keep his place as he gave all his attention to the other man. “Do you ever dream about it?” Loki asked again, turning the page with a small plume of dust. Stephen frowned, unsure as to what the man was even talking about. “About—,” he asked, leaving the word hanging in the air between them.

“The accident,” Loki clarified quietly.

He did dream of it sometimes but not very often, not anymore. He'd long since come to terms with that part of his life. No longer did he wake shaking and sweat-soaked in the middle of the night, with phantom pains rippling up his arms. Well, at least not because of the accident. It was a different reason now that shook him awake in the night; a different nightmare that taunted him, depriving him of a peaceful sleep.

Stephen watched as Loki flipped another page distractedly. He figured the man wasn't reading it anymore, just keeping up the facade of distracted disinterest. “Not really,” Stephen admitted, setting the book aside. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get back to his reading any time soon. “Why?”

He could read the tension lines that striped across Loki’s shoulders as easily as he could breathe. “I haven't been sleeping lately,” Loki reluctantly admitted. “Bad dreams?” Stephen asked, already knowing the answer. Loki just shrugged. “There is no shame in it,” Stephen tried but stopped when he heard the other man scoff quietly. Stephen sighed. That wouldn't do.

“I used to dream about it,” Stephen confessed softly. He felt more than saw Loki pause, long fingers hovering halfway between turning one page to the next. “I would wake up at all hours of the night, in a cold sweat, phantom pains in my hands. I’d wake and not remember where I was, not know if I was really awake. And then one day, the dreams just stopped. I guess I finally came to terms with what happened.” Stephen shrugged.

“And now?” Loki said shrewdly, giving up on the pretence of reading and turning to look across at the other sorcerer. His green eyes were sharp and guarded. “What keeps the Sorcerer Supreme from his sleep now? What sends him wandering the halls at all hours of the night?” he said in a mocking tone, echoing the other man’s words back at him. A mocking tone to hide the man's insecurities.

Stephen gazed thoughtfully back at the other man. It had been a long six months that Loki had been under house arrest at the Sanctum. It had been a part of the agreement orchestrated by the American and Norwegian governments when Thor had petitioned asylum for his people on Earth. In the end, Stephen had been chosen to act as babysitter, being the most obvious person to be able to control Loki. To say he had been unhappy about this arrangement would have been a massive understatement.

He had been surprised at Loki’s willingness to voluntarily enter house arrest, however. Even if the alternative was to leave the planet, or imprisonment on the Raft with all the other high profile enhanced criminals, he had expected the man to at least fuss a little bit.

Loki had done no such thing. His willingness was a testament to everything he and his people had suffered the past few weeks and Stephen had to admit, albeit begrudgingly and only ever to himself, he’d been curious to have another sorcerer about, particularly an alien sorcerer. The prospect of learning about a new type of magic almost made him forget the man’s crimes.

Almost.

Stephen remembered only too well the destruction and pain Loki had unleashed on New York City during his last visit. So many people had died. Hundreds more had been wounded and Stephen had spent countless long hours in the operating room trying to save as many as he could. He lost only two during those awful weeks following the attack. One had been a cop, caught in the crossfire trying to evacuate civilians from an office building.

The other had been a twelve year old boy.

Back in the day, there was nothing that could shake Dr. Stephen Strange’s detached professionalism. That was the one day in his entire career that he slipped up. So he hadn’t been in no hurry to forgive the man for his crimes. If it had been up to him, Loki would be spending the rest of his very long life rotting in a very small cell.

He managed to avoid the man for almost a solid month, after making a point of trapping Loki in the mirror dimension and threatening to leave him there for all entirety if hero much as thought about stepping foot outside the Sanctum. The point seemed to get across, with the dark haired man looking a shade paler than usual.

Honestly, he tried not to give his unwanted houseguest much thought and just focused on his responsibilities and duties as Sorcerer Supreme. It wasn’t until about the third week mark when a trainee in the mystic arts, frustrated by his lack of progress and greedy for power, managed to break into the Sanctum with the intention of stealing something for which to achieve his desires.

Stephen himself had been deeply intrenched in a very complicated spell weaving at the time and had been slow to react as the young man stole up behind him with dark intent. He whirled, calling on the energies around him, sparks flying from his sling ring. There was a look of terrifying glee in this stranger’s eye as he leapt at him with a snarl, a spear forged of golden fire.

Whether he would have been quick enough to get his defence up in time to deflect the blow, he’d never know. With a blur of black hair, Loki appeared from seemingly nowhere, catching the other man’s arm before the blow was struck. A fierce fight insured and Stephen was intrigued to see that Loki was by far the better fighter. As fierce a confrontation it was, it did not last long and ended within a breath as Loki slipped his blade between the attacker’s ribs.

Stephen watched as Loki let the man’s body fall without ceremony with a quick thump. His green eyes flashed with battle fever as he turned to Stephen, a sly smirk on his face. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t lock me away after all?” he said with a dark chuckle. He didn’t give Stephen time to respond, turning on heel and stepping casually over the body on his way out.

That had been the first moment Stephen began to change his opinion of the dark haired sorcerer, though at the time he didn’t know it yet. Looking back, he supposed it was a lot of little things at first:

Finding things in the Relic Room properly cleaned and returned to their former glory. Things that Stephen had puzzled over trying to figure out, the other man would have fixed and working in a night. A text that he was struggling to translate would be finished from one night to the morning, though Loki would never say anything to the matter. An extra cup set out with the tea set in the library when Stephen would find the other man pouring over the Sanctum’s vast collection. The fierce love, buried under years of resentment and pain, that Stephen saw in the man’s eyes when his tornado of an adopted brother came by for sporadic visits.

In the end, it was one big thing that changed Stephen’s mind. It was the first night he found out Loki had nightmares too.

Stephen was no stranger to nightmares. He’d had his fair share after the accident and when those had finally past, he descended into a new level of nighttime terror after everything that happened with Kaecilius and…. _him_. He often found himself wandering the Sanctum late at night, unable to fall back to sleep for fear of what lurked in the dark corners of his mind. _He_ was always there, waiting for him to be at his most vulnerable.

He hadn’t meant to pass by the rooms which Loki had made his own, but as he did so he heard what could only be described as a cry of pain. It was soft, so soft that at first he thought he might had just imagined it. Then he heard it again, a little louder. It came from behind Loki’s closed door. Puzzled, he stepped closer, only to jump as a keening cry echoed before being cut off sharply, dying out into a choked groan.

Alarm thrummed through his chest and he moved to open the door, sling ring tingling on his fingers as he anticipated danger. Then he heard something that made him falter and pause. Words, mumbled and hardly intelligible, reached his ears. They were thick sounding, higher pitched than he had ever heard the man speak before. And the tone…. _pleading_.

“Please…….don’t…..no more,” came whispering through the wood door. “Don’t make me……please…..I can’t, I….”

A large gasp of breath and the soft creak of bed springs followed as the man behind the wall wrenched himself from sleep. Stephen quickly and quietly took his leave, mind whirling over this turn of events.

It was clear that Loki had some monsters of his own lurking in his mind, keeping him from a restful night even as they did the same for Stephen. But what could have happened to the man to cause that? Only deep seated trauma could create that desperate tone of voice.

_Don’t make me._

Don’t make him what? Could this have anything to do with the attack on New York? Stephen knew that Loki had fallen from the Bifrost and the next time anyone saw him, he was stepping through a portal into a secure SHIELD facility, looking haggard and wrecked. Who knows where he fell to or what had happened to him during that unaccountable time. It was that, and not the nightmares, that kept Stephen awake for the rest of that night.

Fast forward another four months and here they were.

An odd sort of easy relationship had formed between them as the moved in and around each other’s space, not really interacted. More like existing comfortably in the same space. And now, this curve ball. Stephen bit his lip, wondering how much he should say. Loki obviously knew about his late night wanderings. He had never told anyone what had transpired after he had frozen time and transported himself into a dimension of stomach-churning colour and pain. No one.

Maybe it was time.

“Can you imagine what it’s like to stare down true evil? To look it dead in the eye as it devours you?” he said softly. “I don’t have to,” was the slender man’s equally soft reply. Stephen’s eyebrow raised a fraction. Interesting. He tucked that information away as he swallowed. He wasn’t sure where to start, how to explain what he had done, what he had sacrificed. Thankfully, Loki didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He watched with sharp and steady eyes, barely seeming to breathe he was so still.

“Do you know of a place called the Dark Dimension?” he finally asked. He wasn’t sure if he should be surprised as the other man nodded slowly. “It wasn’t always so dark,” he said with an ironic smirk that twisted up on one side ruefully. “It was a prosperous realm for almost twenty-eight thousand of your Earth years; a place riddled with pocket universes and near ultimate cosmic power.”

“What happened?” Stephen asked in surprise. This was news to him. The Ancient One had never told me anything more than the dangers of the dimension. Loki shrugged, leaning an arm across the back of his chair. “There is a race of very powerful beings called the Faltine; beings entirely made of energy,” Loki explained. “Two of these creatures destroyed it, taking the power for themselves. Or something like that, I’m a bit rusty with my ancient history. There is so very much of it, far more than your infant planet could comprehend.” Loki added with a superior smirk. Stephen chose to ignore the jab.

“I had….dealings with one of said creatures. He called himself Dormammu,” Stephen said slowly. Loki’s eyebrows shot up.“What kind of dealings?” he asked curiously. “Unpleasant ones,” Stephen said grimly. “I bargained for the Earth.” If he thought Loki’s eyebrows were raised before, they practically disappeared into his hairline at those words. “You bargained with the Eater of Souls himself,” he breathed, something akin to admiration sneaking into his voice. “And lived to speak of it?”

"Not exactly."

Stephen glanced away, unable to keep eye contact anymore. He stared at his hands, but they were trembling even more than normal so that wasn’t going to work. He ended up staring that the fraying corner of the chair he was sitting in.

“I….trapped us in a time loop and refused to break it until he swore to leave and never come back. To say he wasn’t happy about that would be an understatement,” he chuckled bitterly because it was better than choking on the lump that was forming in his throat.

“I died,” he said simply. “Over and over. I have no idea how many times I reset the loop. It all blurred together in the end." Stephen paused, lost in memories and waking nightmares. Flashes of colour sparked across his vision as nebulas undulated endlessly around him. And those eyes, ever watching, ever seeing, ever so sinister. "You know, I never knew there were so many ways to die," he said simply, as if they were talking about the weather. "Being a surgeon you’d think I would, but I never….I didn't….” He lost the words, swallowing thickly as they got trapped in his throat.

Sometimes silence can be so loud. Stephen made himself look up to the other man, startled to find him sitting in the armchair across from him. Meeting that moss-green stare was easier than he had anticipated. There was an understanding reflected in Loki’s eyes, something that went deeper than sympathy. “So that’s what keeps me up at night,” Stephen finished, tucking everything away again into their preverbal boxes until he was in control again. Calm and collected.

“What about you?” he asked.

He practically felt the man’s walls slam shut and he reared back, his eyes flashing. Stephen refrained from saying anything, from calling the other man out because he’d brought all this up in the first place. So he waited quietly as he stared across at the other man.

Slowly, slowly Loki’s mask started to crack around the edges. He licked his lips nervously, eyes darting around the room. The walls continued to unravel until Loki was holding onto control by threads. It was subtle, but Stephen was watching for them. The way the tension rippled across his shoulders, out through his fingers. The subtle tremble in his jaw muscles. The unconscious picking at the seams of the armchair. His eyes darting around, not settling on anything for long.

Finally Loki seemed to settle. He met Stephen’s eyes again. The tension may have mostly drained from his muscles but his eyes were still hectic and a little wild, like a cornered animal. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and small-sounding.

“Have you ever heard of the one they call The Mad Titan?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is my fairy dust!! Thanks for reading xx


	3. Ink My Heart With Your Initials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A neurosurgeon walks into a tattoo parlour and meets a certain tattooist with emerald green eyes.

“Why are we doing this again?” Stephen sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as they wove through the busy downtown traffic. Christine just smiled, the picture of innocence with one hand casually on the wheel. Her casual posture made Stephen twitchy to see so he stared pointedly out the window instead. He didn’t drive anymore, not since the accident. Thankfully, there was a train station a block away from the hospital and there was always cabs after the late night shifts. “Because I want to get my ears pierced again,” Christine explained, glancing behind her before merging into the adjacent lane. “And this place was recommended to me.”

“It wasn’t the woman with the wonky eyebrows and the septum piercing I met at your birthday, was it?” he asked worriedly. Christine giggled. “No, it was Peter actually.” Stephen tried and failed to place a face to the name. Christine must have noticed his hesitation. “Peter Parker?” she clarified. “Should I know who that is?” he asked slowly, feeling like he didn’t want to know the answer. And he was right. “I should hope so, he’s _your_ intern!” Christine said exasperatedly. “Oh, the kid,” Stephen said, a face finally coming to his mind. Then he frowned. “He has his ears pierced?”

“Yes, Stephen, he has gauges,” Christine said with a long-suffering sigh. “Honestly, sometimes you are the most unobservant person I’ve ever met. Anyways,” she continued before Stephen could properly defend himself. “He says he came here and really liked it. It’s even attached to a coffee shop.” Stephen huffed, cracking his neck to try and work out the kinks that had knotted there after his last surgery. He supposed caffeine would help make this all worth it.

“And why did I have to come?” he complained, silently deciding that even the best latte on the planet might not be worth being dragged half way across New York on one of his few days off. “Because it’s also a tattoo parlour and you’ve been talking about getting that tattoo of yours for months now. Have a look at the artists. Maybe you’ll find a style you like.”

Christine parked the car with a stomach lurching stop and lead Stephen down the street, past trendy shop windows and more coffee shops than was strictly necessary. “Tada,” she said with a flourish of her arms, stopping in front of a white-washed brick building. Stephen stared up at the carved wooden sign hanging above them. The words looped pleasantly, the motif of a snake eating its own tale branded into the wood beside them.

_Valhalla Tattooing and Piercing._

“Oh, I didn’t know it was attached to _this_ cafe,” Christine gushed. “I’ve heard really good things about this place. They bake everything in house.” Nestled up against the tattoo parlour was a matching looking building, with French style windows and a similarly carved wooden sign. This one had a hammer brand instead, the words _Nine Realms Cafe_ carved in the same font as its neighbour.

“Come on,” Christine said excitedly, grabbing his hand and practically dragging him inside Valhalla. A bell chimed softly above the door as they stepped inside. The interior was warm and bright with dark wood floors and rusty brick walls. Funky electronic music playing quietly in the background. Artist stations were lined neatly along either side of the large room, with bamboo screens for privacy folded neatly to the side. One screen was drawn; a quiet buzzing and the soft murmurings of voices could be heard behind it. A curly haired man sat opposite at another station, bent over a young woman’s forearm with a pen and a look of intense concentration on his face.

The walls were lined with beautiful collections of photographs, all snapshots of body parts showcasing various artist’s work. Most of them were black and white, but a few were in colour; a bicep showing off a city landscape, silhouetted against an explosion of sunset reds and pinks.; a woman’s chest, hands covering her breasts and showing off the flower that traced her sternum, the colours splattered like paint.

A wrought iron staircase hugged the wall to the right, leading up to a half loft and what looked to be offices. At the bottom of the stairs, a large set of double doors lead into the adjacent cafe. The waiting area to the right of the front door, large couches and comfy looking chairs sat next to tables stacked with magazines and books. Plants hung from the ceiling and dotted the windowsills and the reception desk which sat to the left side of the door. A red haired woman perched on a stool behind the desk, flipping ideally through a magazine.

“Hi there,” Christine said with a smile. The woman glanced up, a pleasant smile pulling at her bright red lips. “Welcome to _Valhalla_ ,” she said pleasantly, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a neat row of little rings climbing up the curve of her ear. “What can I do you for?”

“I’d like to book an appointment to get my ears pierced,” Christine explained while Stephen hung back and just listened. “He’s thinking of a tattoo,” she said, jabbing thumb in his direction. “We were hoping to take a look at some of your artist’s work.”

The woman glanced briefly down at the booking log. “You’re in luck,” she said. “We’ve just had a cancellation. If you don’t mind waiting, Clint should be back from lunch in about ten minutes.”

“Brilliant,” Christine beamed. “All of our artist’s books are on the tables over there,” the woman continued, pointing a perfectly manicured blood-red nail towards the waiting area. “Feel free to pop next door and grab a coffee while you wait. You’re more than welcome to bring it in here.”

They did go next door, finding the cafe almost a mirror picture of the other side. A mountain of a man with long blonde hair and a booming voice welcomed them exuberantly while the slender dark-haired woman who was practically dwarfed beside him rolled her eyes at his antics and took their order.

Before long, they were settled back at Valhalla on one of the plush couches with various albums open before them. Stephen did his best not to moan with pleasure as he sipped his latte. He had to admit, he’s never had better. Perhaps caffeine would be worth it. “Ooh, Stephen, look at this,” Christine said excitedly, pulling one of the photo albums across their laps. Brilliant splashes of colour exploded across the pages, showing off watercolour deigns of animals, flowers, and geometric designs.

“Pretty,” he said mildly, sipping his coffee. “More than pretty, these are gorgeous,” Christine said in awe, flipping through the pages. “Not my style but you could probably pull it off,” Stephen replied, grabbing another slim album from the table. “Maybe,” Christine murmured, flipping through the book.

The one Stephen grabbed had mostly portraits by a guy named Bruce, extremely detailed and lifelike but again, it wasn’t what Stephen was looking for. Not that he was really sure what he wanted, but he did know what he didn’t want. At least that was some sort of start.

Footsteps and voices prompted him to glance up. The previously closed screen had been pulled back, revealing two dark-haired men. One was hopping off the table, shaking shaggy brown hair back out of his eyes as he admired the additions to the full tattoo sleeve that covered most of his right arm. His other arm had a full sleeve as well, strange overlapping patterns of silver and black creating a cyborg-like facade. The second man had pitch-black hair, long and slicked back from his pale face as he packed away the last of his tattooing gear.

Stephen watched through his lashes as they headed up towards the front desk together. The red head yanked the first man’s arm across the table, turning it this way and that as she examined the new additions and ignoring his half-hearted protests of not being a piece of meat. Stephen, however, only had eyes for the tattooist.

He had a slender face and a strong nose. Silver rings dotted almost every finger and Stephen admired their grace as he filled something out in the book, as he brushed hair out of his face with restless fingers, as he twirled the pencil in thought.

The man just shook his head at the antics of the other two as he murmured something to the woman before heading next door to the cafe. Stephen felt his eyes tracking the man’s movements, admiring the tailored jeans that hugged his legs and ass perfectly, the tight black shirt with sleeves that stopped mid-forearm and showed off muscled biceps and a slender waist.

“See something you like?” Christine murmured softly, not looking up from her magazine. “Shut up,” Stephen said mildly, feeling his cheeks flush. Christine just smirked. “Maybe this won’t be such a drag for you after all,” she teased.

Before Stephen could protest, the bell on the door chimed and two men stepped in, one with short blonde hair and the other with spiky, dusty brown locks. “Hey Bucky,” the blonde said, bright blue eyes lighting up as they landed on on the man. The shaggy haired man, Bucky, turned and smiled broadly. It was then that Stephen realized what he had first taken as a second tattoo sleeve was actually a metal and carbon fibre prosthetic. Stephen almost whistled in appreciation. He’d never seen anything that sleek, that lifelike. The movements were smooth, if perhaps a little stiff in the fingers. He knew Stark Industries was working on a new line of prosthetic limbs but they were months from going on market. He wondered how this man had managed to get on the clinical trial. Christine had tried in vain for months to get one of her patients on that list.

“What do you think?” Bucky said, twisting to show off the other arm and its new additions of geometric patterns and overlapping shades of grey. “One more session and it’ll be finished.” The blonde turned it this way and that, humming his appreciation. “That’s so dope, man,” the sandy haired man said as he slipped behind the reception desk and pressed a kiss to the red-head’s cheek. “It’s beautiful,” the blonde murmured, leaning in to press his lips against Bucky’s. “PDA in the workplace!” the spiky-haired man shouted, bouncing up and down like a child. “PDA in the workplace! Didn't you read the memo?!”

“Hypocrite,” the woman accused, flicking her fingers against his skull with a solid thwack. “You have a client.” She nodded towards the couch where Stephen and Christine had been watching with amusement. “Shit, sorry,” the man said, bounding around the desk in a way that reminded Stephen of a puppy that hadn’t grown into it’s feet yet.

“Hi, I’m Clint,” he said with a smile. His spiky blonde hair was gelled up and out of his face, showing off a barbell across his eyebrow. He also had a double nose piercing, two slender gold rings hugging close to one side of his nostril. Black wooden gauges the size of quarters sat in both earlobes, with other rings and studs dotting up the sides. When he talked, a flash of silver revealed a tongue stud.

Stephen threw a look at Christine, who smacked him on the leg as she stood in a silent order to behave. “I’m Christine,” she said, shaking the energetic man’s hand. “Stephen,” he said with a wave, not bothering to get up. “Pleasure,” Clint grinned. “Now, what are we getting done today?”

“I’d like to get my ears pierced again,” Christine explained. “Fantastic,” Clint said excitedly. “We’re just upstairs, if you’re all ready.” As he pointed, his shirt rode up a little, revealing a large and very sparkly piece of jewelry dangling from his bellybutton. Clint grinned as he caught Stephen staring. “Birthday present,” he explained, pulling up his shirt to reveal the gaudy jewelry in all its tacky glory. “Steve’s idea of a joke,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the blonde man who was still lounging with the other two at the desk. “Jokes on him though, because I love it and got the piercing just for it!”

“Jokes on me because I have to live with it too,” the red haired woman called from across the room. “You love it and you know it, Nat,” Clint crowed back as he presented the way for Christine with a flourish and a half bow. She hesitated, glancing back at him but Stephen just dismissed her with a flap of his hand. “Go have fun mutilating your body.” She stuck her tongue out at him before following Clint upstairs.

He savoured the rest of his coffee, sipping slowly as he flipped through the remaining albums. The artists were clearly talented, however there was nothing that really caught him. Feeling a little discouraged, he grabbed the last binder from the table and opened it with a sigh.

Immediately, he knew. This was what he wanted.

Delicate black and grey geometric patters intricately wove together before his eyes. Some where blocky and chunky, dark shading and harsh lines. Others were delicate and faint, with pointillism styles and layers of shading. There was a compass rose, the top side exploding out in a flock of birds. Thick blocky shapes, like puzzle pieces put together wrong, created the shape of a palm tree on a beach. A full upper back and neck piece, showing off mandala and lotus flower motifs.

They were beautiful.

“Wow,” he breathed, flipping through the pages again. “See something you like?” he was asked for the second time in less than twenty minutes. He glanced to to sharp green eyes and a small mischievous smirk, long dark hair and pale skin. The man whose ass he’d been ogling not five minutes prior stood over him. A steaming mug of coffee was clutched in those slender fingers, the _Nine Realms_ logo emblazoned on the side.

“They’re beautiful,” Stephen said once he found his tongue again. A light chuckle pulled a smile from the slender man. “Thanks.” Stephen’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, these are yours?” he asked, glancing back down at the binder in awe. “Guilty,” the man said. “They’re amazing,” Stephen breathed, flipping through the pages again. “Really.”

“Thanks,” Loki said again with that crooked smirk that held more than a touch of arrogance. He held out a hand. “I’m Loki,” he said in that rich timber that did funny things that seemed to Stephen’s lungs. “Stephen,” he said, returning the grip.

“Thinking of getting something?” Loki asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he sat down next to Stephen on the couch. “Umm, yeah actually. I’ve been thinking of it for a while now. Got dragged in here with a friend. She’s getting her ears pierced right now.”

“You have any idea what you want?” Loki asked, taking another sip. “I have this design I’ve been sitting with,” he began and immediately Loki leaned forward and produced a pad of paper and pen seemingly out of thin air. “Show me,” he commanded, dropping the items atop the binder in Stephen’s lap.

“Uh, okay, sure,” Stephen muttered, snatching up the pen and scrawling the drawing to the best of his ability. It was simple enough; four intersecting lines that curved across the inside of a circle. He watched Loki look over the design. “Does it mean anything?” he asked. “Enlightenment,” Stephen said, not really wanting to elaborate further. Thankfully, Loki didn’t press. He just nodded, teeth nibbling at his thumbnail in thought. “I can definitely do something with this,” he said finally. “I’ll throw something together. You can book in a consultation with Nat for this weekend, if that works.”

“Uh yeah, that’d be awesome,” Stephen said, scrambling to keep up. Loki nodded, picking up the pad of paper with his free hand. “Were you thinking colour or greyscale?”

“Definitely greyscale,” Stephen confirmed. “I like the idea of different shadings and geometrical designs.” Loki hummed, nodding still. “That’s exactly my style. Any idea of placement?” he asked. “Not really,” Stephen confessed. “Shoulder or back could be an option,” Loki began but Stephen shook his head. “I want to be able to see it, but somewhere hidden for work.”

“Chest then,” Loki offered but Stephen shut that down quickly. “Not chest,” he said swiftly. He flushed a little as Loki smirked. “Well, you know what you don’t want, which is a start,” he said with a chuckle. “Sorry,” he began but the other man just waved a hand dismissively. “Inner bicep?”

Stephen mulled it over. Somehow that just felt right, in an odd way. “Yeah, I like that,” he said. Loki grinned. “Alright. Hey, Nat,” he called across the room. “Book him in Sunday for a consult,” he said, getting to his feet. Another firm handshake, one last smile and Loki disappeared up the stairs. And if Stephen took a split second to admire the man walk away well, he was only human.

“He’s single, you know,” Natasha said as he approached the front desk, the other two men having since disappeared. “What?” Stephen said, startled from his preoccupation with a pair of green eyes and a wicked smile. “I said he’s single,” she repeated, pointing to the stairs where Loki had disappeared, a sly smirk on her face. Stephen flushed. “And?” he said, feeling a little flustered. She smirked but didn’t say anything more on the subject. “Can you come in next Sunday at two o’clock?” she said instead.

“Yeah, I can make that work,” Stephen said, running through his schedule in his head. He was on call that day but that should be fine. “What’s the name?” she asked, pencil poised over the book. “Stephen,” he replied. “Stephen Strange. And yes, that’s my real name,” he added in answer to her raised eyebrows and incredulous expression. “Huh,” was all she said before asking him for his phone number. “Well?” He turned to find Christine bouncing up to him, proudly displaying her new jewelry. He did’t even get a chance to comment as her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, are you booking a session?”

“A consultation,” he corrected, much to Christine’s delight. “And you are all set for next Sunday,” Nat added, closing the book with a quiet thump and another smile. “Thanks,” Stephen said, ushering Christine out and promising to answer all her questions in the car.

 

 

  
Sunday rolled around and Stephen found himself back at Valhalla. Today it was a different person behind the desk; a young man boasting blue-white hair and tattoos that wrapped like thick cuffs around both wrists. “Hey, you’re back,” the blonde man from before said as he waved a client out the door. “I’m Steve, by the way,” he said, reaching a hand out with a friendly smile. “Stephen,” he said with a wry smirk. “Well, that won’t be confusing,” Steve said with a chuckle. “You here for a consult with Loki?”

“Yeah, at two,” he said. “Well, he’s one of the best,” Steve said with an easy smile, taking a seat across from him in one of the arm chairs. “Which is you?” Stephen asked, gesturing to the art hanging on the walls. Steve chuckled, pointing to the one Stephen had admired earlier, the one of the floral pattern up the girl’s sternum. “I’m the watercolour guy,” he said, a little sheepishly.

“Well, I may have a client for you,” Stephen chuckled. “My friend Christine is completely in love with your work.” Steve’s ears flushed red at the praise. He was saved from saying anything further by a man walking through the door, aviators perched low on his nose and an air force patch sewn into the bicep of his jacket. “Excuse me,” Steve said, getting up and shaking hands with the man before leading him through to the back.

This happened to coincided with Loki himself making an appearance, shrugging out of a grey wool coat with a flourish. He caught sight of Stephen, shooting him a quick smile as he hung his coat on the hooks by reception. “Hey, do you mind if we take this next door?” Loki asked as he snatched up a nearby sketchbook from behind the desk. “I really need caffeine.” Stephen stood with an answering smile. “You’ll never catch me turning down coffee,” he said, making the other man chuckle. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” the man said before his brain caught up with his mouth and he faltered for a moment, looking nervous before that arrogant smirk slipped back into place.

“Brother!” the tall blonde man boomed, spreading his arms wide and startling a couple of teenagers huddled over their blended mochas in the corner as Loki and Stephen approached the counter. “And friend! Welcome to the _Nine Realms_! What beverage may I prepare to quench your travel-weary bones?”

Stephen felt his eyebrows disappear into his hair. “Is he serious?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Loki just rolled his eyes. “Drop the act, Thor,” he sighed. Thor chuckled, leaning forward on his elbows across the counter. “Hey, it works on the tourist. It’s the hair, really. What can I get you?”

“My regular and whatever he wants,” Loki waved a hand in Stephen’s general direction and headed towards a small table in the corner bracketed by armchairs. “You were here last week with your girlfriend. Latte, right?” Thor said. “Yeah, that’s right. Thanks. And she’s just a friend,” Stephen felt like he needed to clarify. The blonde man smirked. “Is that so?” he said slowly, something mischievous twinkling in his eye. “Yes,” Stephen said slowly, feeling like he was missing something. “Leave him alone, Thor,” Loki called from the corner, not even looking up from the sketchbook he’d brought.

Thor winked and grabbed a couple mugs from under the bar. “He’s your brother?” Stephen asked incredulously as he sat across from the dark-haired man. The idea of that blonde mountain being related to this dark, lethe man was almost laughable. “Adopted brother,” Loki said, flipping through the book. “Ah,” Stephen said, not knowing if he’d put his foot in it or not. “Here it is,” Loki said, seemingly not phased by the question. He flipped the book around on the table, turning it towards Stephen.

Stephen picked it up slowly. The circular design sat near the top of the sketch, done in pointillism style shading, going from pale grey to full black. Circles and half circles spun out from it, overlapping in different sizes. Lines and dots trailed down underneath it, crossing into diamonds and other patterns before finally fading.

Stephen was still staring at it when Thor brought their coffee over so he missed the smug smirk the blonde man sent their way, nor the glare Loki levelled up at him. “So, what do you think?” Loki finally said, leaning forward. “It’s perfect,” Stephen said, glancing across at the other man. “Really, I love it.” Loki grinned, that touch of arrogance back in force but Stephen found himself smiling back.

At that moment, Stephen’s pager decided to go off. “Shit,” he muttered, digging it out of his pocket and checking the number. “People who still have pagers are either doctors, detectives, or pimps,” Loki said with raised eyebrows, smirk still firmly in place. “So which one are you?”

“I’m a neurosurgeon,” Stephen said distractedly, finding his pager having fallen from his pocket and gotten wedged between the couch cushions. “Wow, impressive,” Loki drawled and Stephen couldn't tell if he actually was impressive or just being sarcastic. His fingers finally closed around the little plastic square and he flipped it over, checking the number.

Code 20. That meant mass casualties incoming. “Shit,” he snapped again. “I have to go.”

“Hey, can I book you in for two next Sunday?” Loki asked as Stephen shrugged on his jacket, throwing down a fiver for the coffee. “Yeah, sure, sounds great,” Stephen said, his mind already a million miles away. At least he remembered to throw the man a quick smile as he beelined it out the door.

 

 

  
Stephen slumped down against the wall of the operation room, turning his bloody gloves inside out as his patient was wheeled out to the ICU. His eyes blurred and burned and he yawned hard enough to feel his jaw crack. He’d been in the operating room for the last thirty-six hours straight.

“Okay, up you get,” Tate, his scrub nurse said, grabbing him by the arm and bodily hauling him to his feet. “We’re done.” He squeezed his shoulder. “You did good.” Stephen nodded, pulling off his scrub cap. “What time is it?” he said, words perforated by another jaw-breaking yawn. “Time for you to go home and get some sleep,” Tate insisted with a chuckle. “Okay,” Stephen said, far too tired to argue. He managing not to stumble as he stepped out into the scrub room and pulled off his gown.

He was just stepping into his apartment when his phone buzzed, reminding him that he had his tattoo appointment in an hour. “Shit,” he muttered, toeing off his shoes. “Shit, shit, shit.” There was no way he could go now, he hadn’t slept in almost two days. He found the number and held the phone to his ear as he trudged towards the bedroom.

“ _Valhalla Tattooing and Piercings_. This is Natasha, how may I help you?” A familiar sounding voice drawled. “Uh, my name is Steven Strange, I have an appointment at three?”

“Oh yeah, Loki’s guy,” was the immediate response and did her voice change pitch and tone a little once she recognized him? Stephen shook his head. He was obviously sleep deprived. “Yeah, unfortunately I have to reschedule my appointment,” he said. “There’ll be a cancellation fee,” he warned. “Yeah, I know,” he said, pinching his nose as he felt a headache starting to set in. “Okay, he has an opening for, oh hold on a sec. Hi there, how can I help you?” he heard her say. “Hold on, I…you! Here, it’s your guy. Can’t make it in today.” There was a hustling and then a familiar voice rumbled in his ear.

“Hey, you need to reschedule?” Loki asked. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I haven’t slept in two days,” he said, stumbling down the hall towards the bedroom. “Jesus, why?” Loki asked incredulously. “Depressed skull fracture with acute intracranial haemorrhaging,” Stephen said with a yawn.

“Sounds awful,” Loki chuckled. Stephen hummed in agreement. “He’ll live,” he yawned. Another chuckle reached his ears. “Okay, how about next Sunday at two-fifteen?” Stephen thought about it. A week felt like enough sleep. That was enough sleep. “I’ll be there,” he mumbled. “Alright, see you then,” Loki said with another chuckle. “Sleep well.”

Stephen wasn't sure if he said anything in response or if he even hung up the phone properly. He just sort of collapsed onto his bed and didn’t remember anything after that.

 

  
“Welcome back,” Natasha said, one more perched behind the reception desk. Her nails matched her lipstick again, this time a burnt burgundy shade. “He’s just running a little late. Have a seat.” Stephen flipped through a couple magazines for a while. A mug was set by his elbow. He glanced up to long blonde hair and a smirk. “On the house,” Thor said with a wink. “Thanks?” Stephen said, puzzled.

“Don’t drink that,” Loki said as he barrelled through the door in a whirlwind of long limbs, shrugging his long coat off and throwing it up onto the hooks by the door. Today he was wearing a tight fitting blue t-shirt, the short sleeves showing off an upper arm tattoo, the first Stephen had noticed on the man. It looked like geometric scales, wrapping and overlapping his bicep in pale blues and yellows before disappearing under his shirt sleeve.

“Why, is it poisoned?” Stephen drawled as he got to his feet and clasped hands with the artist. “Possibly,” Loki said glibly. “But more because caffeine is a stimulant and can make your skin more sensitive.”

“Good to know,” Stephen smirked. “Someone should probably tell your brother.”

“Adopted brother,” Loki said, sending a glare towards the door as if he could scorch the blonde man through the wall. Stephen wondered if he’d put his foot in it again but then Loki looked back up at him with eyes twinkling almost mischievously.

“Come on back, I just need to set up.” He led Stephen back past the desk. Natasha watched them with sharp eyes. “Shut your face, Natasha,” Loki scowled as the aforementioned opened her mouth as they passed. She smirked, something in her eyes that made Stephen feel very unsettled.

“What was that about?” he asked as Loki led him back towards one of the stations. They passed the curly haired man Stephen had seen before, working closely on an amazing looking portrait piece on a man’s chest. “Hmmm?” Loki asked, hooking a wheeling stool with his ankle and taking a seat. “Oh that. Sorry. Don’t worry about that. Have a seat.” Stephen sat on the reclining chair as Loki started pulling out inks and little paper cups. “You’re blushing,” he observed amusedly, which only served to cause the man to flush further. “My brother and my receptionist like to play matchmaker. Just ignore them, they’ll get bored eventually. Ok, shirt off. I need to shave your arm,” the man clearly deflecting as he rapidly changed the topic.

Stephen let him, tucking a secret smile away at the knowledge of the attempt to set him up with the dark haired artist. The prep process happened rather smoothly. The shaving felt weird, then sterilized it and laid the stencil, fussing with the placement for a few minutes. “Alright. Comfortable?” he asked as he snapped on gloves. “Yep,” Stephen said, tucking his hand under his head to comfortably bare his inner bicep.

“Okay, here we go.”

It was a strange sensation, like a knife being drawn across his skin that seemed to burn hot and cold in turns but also at the same time. Stephen breathed through his nose, focusing on the artwork that hung nearby to distract himself.

“So depressed skull fracture, huh?” Loki said, moving the gun slowly across Stephen’s skin. “Yep,” Stephen hissed through his teeth as the needle ran over a particularly tender spot. “How did you get into neurosurgery?” the slender man asked over the buzzing of the gun. “Relax,” the man murmured, pausing as Stephen’s muscles clenched involuntarily at the question. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s…,” Stephen licked his lips, focusing in on the pain. He breathed it in and focused beyond it. It was a technique he was very familiar with. “My mother died when I was ten. Brain aneurysm.” The buzzing stopped before picking back up again. “I’m sorry,” Loki said softly. “Thanks,” Stephen said softly. He blinked, pulling himself out of the spiral into unpleasant memories. “What about you?” he asked, changing the subject. “You always knew you wanted to be a tattoo artist?”

“Hardly,” Loki said with a bitter chuckle. “I got caught by the owner trying to steal from the register after hours when I was fifteen.” Stephen blinked. “What, here?” he asked in disbelief. He turned his head to look at the other man but could only see the top of his head. “Yep,” Loki said, popping the last consonant sharply. “Broke a window in the back. No alarms on the building back then.”

“What happened?” Stephen prompted curiously when the other man didn’t continue. “He gave me a choice,” Loki said, moving down Stephen’s arm and began working closer to the elbow. “Said he’d either call the police, which would mean I’d get thrown back in Juvie, or I could work at the shop after school and on weekends until I had paid off the window I broke.”

Loki fell silent, frowning in concentration as he worked on the smaller details of the design. Stephen burned with curiosity for the man to finish his story but he didn’t want to interrupt his concentration. “Anyways, after I paid off the window, he offered me a job. Took me on as an apprentice when I was seventeen and…I’m rambling, sorry.” He sat up, clearly uncomfortable at having revealed so much. He raked his hair back from his face as he avoided eye contact. “No, it’s fine,” Stephen insisted but Loki just bent low over his arm and didn’t say anything else.

Stephen breathed deeply, pushing the annoying stinging sensation out of his mind. He focused instead on the photos lining the wall next to them. They were black and white photographs of various tattoos. A woman’s bare legs and bottom, little bows tattooed on the back of her thighs with laces that trailed gracefully. A butterfly blooming in geometric patterns across someone’s shoulders.

The one that really caught his eye was the one of a sword tracing down a man’s spine, the handle intricately carved with Norse runes. The model was slender, lean muscles stretching as the man held his arms above his head. It was beautiful.

“Hang on,” Stephen said, fully comprehending something the man had said earlier. “You said ‘your receptionist’. Does that mean you…?” He left the question opened ended and Loki flushed a little as he changed up his angle. “Yeah, I own the place,” he admitted sheepishly. “So the previous owner…,” Stephen insinuated as Loki nodded. “Made me partner once I got my full license and then gave me the place when he retired last year. How’s the arm feel?” he asked abruptly, once again changing subjects on the doctor.

“Fine,” Stephen replied, stretching his arm out to shake the numbness. The outlines looked to be finished, the overall shape slowly taking shape. “We’re at the halfway point,” Loki said as he swapped out needles. “You’re doing really well.”

This time as the buzzing started, Stephen kept his attention of the tattooist and his craft. Loki’s eyes were so focused as he bent over Stephen’s arm. His teeth worried at his lower lip and there was a little crease between his dark eyebrows. His eyes flicked over Loki’s shoulder to see Nat watching them with a satisfied looking smirk and that’s when he realized he had been staring. “Looking good,” Steve said with a grin as he glanced over Loki’s shoulder on his way over to his station.

“And we are done,” Loki said finally, giving Stephen’s arm one last wipe. “Have a look.” Stephen hopped off table, feeling a little light headed. He crossed to a nearby mirror, twisting his arm outwards. It was better than he had imagined. Greys and blacks created swirling patterns within the symbol itself, and soft shading made the edges of the design look like they were fading out into a fog, or disappearing into his skin. It was perfect.

“What do you think?” Loki asked, almost looking a little nervous as he stepped up behind him. “It’s fantastic,” Stephen breathed, brushing his fingers over the new ink. “Glad you like it,” Loki said with a self-assured smirk. He took Stephen’s arm, turning it to admire it for himself. His hands were warm and soft, the multiple rings he wore making prickling cold spots against Stephen’s skin. Almost as if he could feel Stephen staring, Loki’s eyes flicked up to meet his and held. A crack of something akin to electricity seemed to dance across the space between them.

“Hey Loks.” Both men startled, glancing towards the door as Bucky strode boldly over to Loki’s station, tossing his leather jacket onto the table. “Buck,” Loki said over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me, I’m just waiting for Steve,” the man said as he hopped up on the reclining chair and making himself comfortable. “Come on, I need to wrap that up,” Loki said And do you mind if I take a picture for my bio?”

“Yeah, of course,” Stephen said as Loki led him back to the table where Bucky lounged in a tight muscle shirt that showed off his ridiculously muscular chest. Stephen tried not to stare at the man’s prosthetic arm but it was hard and apparently he wasn’t as subtle as he thought.

“Lost it in Afghanistan,” Bucky said. Stephen’s eyes snapped up to his. Startling blue eyes were guarded, a bitter twist to his lips, telling Stephen the man was used to the stares and the insensitive questions and had just decided to get ahead of it. “IED took out the convoy I was apart of. Gone from the elbow down.”

“Oh, no, sorry, I wasn’t…I just recognized the brand,” Stephen scrambled as Loki looked sharply between the two of them. “I’ve worked with some Stark Tech at Metro-General before but I thought this particular model wasn’t available yet. It’s still in trail phase because of the nerve interface, isn’t it?”

There was a beat where Stephen could feel that he was being evaluated. Then Bucky grinned. “Yeah, the interface was a bit buggy in the beginning. Couldn't tell what was phantom pain and what was real nerve pain. Hurt like a bitch until Stark figured it out. It’s pretty smooth sailing now.” He rolled his wrist, wiggled his fingers. Stephen wasn’t even paying attention to Loki, who had already taken his picture and was currently wrapping his bicep in plastic.

“Amazing,” Stephen continued. “How did you get into the clinical trial? A colleague of mine tried for six months to get a patient on it but could barely get a foot in the door.” Bucky shrugged, looking a little bashful. “I’m head of Stark’s security,” he explained. “When he realized how limiting my previous prosthetic was, that it would trap me behind a desk for the rest of my career, he bumped me to the front of the clinical trial. Now I head his personal security detail.”

“Is it removable?” Stephen asked, eyes raking over the arm but Bucky shook his head. “Fully integrated into my nervous system. There are even mild sensory receptors in the hand.” Stephen’s eyes widened. Stark had yet to release the technical specs on the prosthetic and having this up close sneak preview was incredible. “You actually have feeling?” he asked incredulously.

“And you are all set,” Loki said with a smile. “Nat will get you all settled up and give you a sheet of aftercare instructions.” And then he slipped out into the neighbouring cafe. “I’ve never seen a man drink so much coffee,” Bucky chuckled, stretching out along the table. Stephen just shook his head, gathering his jacket and bag. “Thanks for answering my questions.”

“Anytime,” Bucky said with a smirk. “Oh, and you should ask him out.”

“Excuse me?” Stephen said, stuttering to a stop and glancing back because obviously he heard the man wrong. “I said you should ask him out. If you swing that way, which you obviously do if the way you were ogling his ass just now is any indicator,” Bucky smirked, arms casually tucked behind his head. So, he didn’t mishear the man. “Duly noted,” Stephen said stiffly as he crossed to the desk. Natasha thankfully didn’t say anything on the subject. At first. He payed for the appointment, leaving behind a very generous tip. He was a little confused by the waved cancellation fees but Natasha didn’t say anything beyond giving him a knowing little look. “So these are the aftercare instructions,” Nat said, passing over a leaflet with a business card pinned to the front. “And that’s his business card, with his cell on it.”

“I think you are all in the wrong business,” Stephen drawled, covering his embarrassment. “Ever think of taking up matchmaking?” Natasha just smiled. “Hope to see you again _very soon_ ,” she said pleasantly. “Thanks,” he said and left before he started blushing.

 

  
Stephen carried that business card around in his wallet for two weeks. More than once he pulled it out, thinking about calling and then thinking better of it. Christine just rolled her eyes and called him a coward and maybe he was. He couldn't get the green eyed man out of his head and yet every time he went to give him a call, he chickened out. It was to weird, almost stalker-ish.

It was all taken out of his hands when his phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize on his way to work one morning. “Stephen Strange,” he answered briskly as he strode through the ER automatic doors. “You’re an idiot,” a familiar woman’s voice snapped in his ear. “Excuse me?” Stephen said, pulling up short. “Who is this?”

“Natasha.”

Natasha? He didn’t know any Natasha. Stephen floundered and then suddenly it clicked. “From the tattoo place?” he asked in astonishment. “I told you that you should ask him out,” she said sternly and Stephen could almost see her examining her perfectly manicured nails as she spoke. “You people really have no concept of personal or professional boundaries, do you?” he accused as he dodged a gaggle of gossiping interns on his way to the locker room. “Look, I barely know him,” he protested. “I’m sure he isn’t interested.”

“Loki’s books are full for the next eight and a half months,” Natasha said briskly. “He scheduled both your consult and appointment on his only day off. Believe me, he’s interested.” Stephen froze with his hand on the door handle at that revelation. “Oh,” he said dumbly. “Call him,” the woman ordered before the line went abruptly dead, leaving Stephen feeling more confused than ever.

  

 

Two days later he found himself walking into _Nine Realms_ after a shift. He still felt too weird just cold calling the guy, but running into him casually while grabbing a coffee was a different story. Thankfully, Thor wasn’t there. It was the slender dark haired girl that made him his latte.

He smiled his thanks and took a seat at the corner table where he’d sat before, which also had a good view through the door into the tattoo parlour. The big double doors were propped open for once, giving him a clear line of sight for the drama that was beginning to unfold inside.

He saw Loki first, perched behind the desk as he flipped through the appointment book. He was wearing a green plaid shirt over a black tank top, the sleeves rolled up to bare two silver cuffs wrapped around both wrists. His hair was pulled back in a low bun, a few strands falling loosely around his face. His face was stoney and still as he argued with Clint. The spiky haired man’s back was to Stephen, but he could read the tension radiating across the man’s shoulders.

Their voices were low but Stephen could tell it was getting heated. Then Clint took a step forward, getting up in the other man’s face and even from this distance Stephen could see Loki’s eyes flash hot and his hands clenched into fists. Before anything could escalate further, suddenly Natasha was between them. The dark haired man stepped away even as Clint continued to snap at him. He shrugged off Steve’s worried looks, his jaw clenched as he crossed out into the cafe.

Stephen tore his eyes away from the desk, where Natasha had grasped Clint by the chin and was giving him a stern talking to even as her other hand smoothed gentle circles into his palm. Loki was waiting impatiently for his coffee, arms crossed and foot tapping. He said nothing as he snatched up his mug, giving the girl a grunt of acknowledgement.

Stephen caught his eye as he turned, seeing those bright green eyes widen in surprise. He gave the man a smile and a small wave. He looked back down at his coffee, seeing the man hesitate, waver, and then head over to Stephen’s table. “Hey,” he said roughly. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” Stephen said, gesturing to the adjacent chair. Loki folded his lanky form into the plush armchair, fingers tapping nervously against the mug. “I suppose you….heard all that,” he said, jerking his head back towards the desk. Stephen had the good grace to look a little abashed. “It looked a little tense,” he compromised. “We have a… complicated history,” Loki admitted, chewing on his lip. “Not like that,” he back peddled and Stephen had to admit, his mind had gone there. “We were in the same house for a while, as kids before I was adopted by the Odinsons’. We…didn’t get along well and sometimes old stuff comes up and — and I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this,” Loki blushed, clearly getting flustered as his guard slammed back up. “You didn't need to listen to any of that.”

“Go out to dinner with me,” Stephen stated calmly.

Loki’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. His mouth floundering a little as he tried to find the words, clearly blindsided. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Wonderful,” Stephen replied briskly, finishing the last of his coffee and grabbing up his things. “Next Sunday?” Stephen just couldn't resist using that little tidbit of information. “I hear that’s your day off.” To his amusement, Loki flushed. “Five Sails. Eight o’ clock,” he stated, clearly trying to regain some composure and control.

“I’ll see you then,” Stephen said with a smooth smile.

 

 

The door crashed shut with a snap. His jacket went in one direction and his bag went in the other as Stephen toed off his shoes and left them in the middle of the hallway. He didn’t even bother to turn on any lights, relying on the dim glow from the city lights through the floor to ceiling windows and muscle memory. He went straight to the liquor cabinet and snatched up the first thing his hand closed around. The first drink was straight from the bottle, the smooth bourbon burning his throat as he snatched up a glass and flopped down onto the couch.

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table as he poured, sloshing a little over onto his jeans. The glass was refilled before he’d even finished swallowing the first one. He drank until his face felt numb and his hands stopped shaking. He drank until his eyes were blurring. What he couldn't drink away was the hollow, empty feeling that had taken residence inside his chest.

Everyone always thought he was so detached, so professional. Some called it cold hearted, the way he could calmly deal with grieving families, but that’s what it was to be a doctor. You had to be the calm in the storm. He wasn’t a councillor. It wasn’t his job to offer comfort, it was his job to fix people. And when he couldn't fix them, when he failed at his job, he’d come home and drink until he forgot, or at least until he passed out.

Only Christine had an idea of his mildly self-destructive coping mechanisms but she could never get him to talk about it. When he’d have a bad case or lost a patient, she’d drag him to her place and ply him with a home cooked meal or extra greasy takeout and make sure he didn’t drink himself stupid. Today though….today he couldn’t deal with that. He just couldn’t. Christine had tried to get him to come over but he’d managed to brush her off and then ignored her subsequent texts.

It was fully dark outside and the bottle was halfway empty when his phone rang. He thought about ignoring it, but Christine would probably just keep calling. He didn’t even look at the number as he answered it. “What do you want, Christine?” he ground out, leaning forward to pour himself another glass.

“Not Christine,” a voice far deeper than Christine’s sighed in his ear.

The voice sounded very familiar and Stephen’s intoxicated brain scrambled to place it. Then his stomach dropped out and it wasn't anything to do with the alcohol. It was Sunday. His watch glared up at him, damning him with three little numbers that read a time half an hour after they’d agreed to meet. “Shit,” he groaned. “Yeah,” Loki drawled in his ear. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Look man, if you don't want to go out with me, just say so,” Loki sighed, clearly annoyed. “But I’ve been jerked around before and I’m not going to —,”

“I lost a kid today,” Stephen interrupted.

The other end of the phone was dead silent. “Fuck,” Loki murmured in his ear. “Yeah,” Stephen breathed, pinching his eyes closed as they began to burn. He was far too drunk to talk about this. “Where are you?” the other man asked and Stephen couldn't express enough gratitude that the man hadn't asked _'How are you?'._

“Home,” Stephen stated, slumping back against the couch. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to stand you up. I just forgot,” he trailed off, because that wasn't any better reason. There was a pause and when Loki finally spoke, his tone was laced with hesitance. “You want some company?”

Stephen froze. “I….,” He tried to make words work but somehow they weren’t working. “No, hey, don’t worry, that was too far,” Loki began backtracking but suddenly that wasn’t what Stephen wanted. “No, it’s fine,” Stephen insisted, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Did he want company? A pair of bright green eyes and a mischievous smirk floated into his minds eye and suddenly the idea of being alone in his large and very empty apartment seemed very lonely indeed.

“I’m just…I gotta warn you, ‘m very drunk right now,” he confessed with a huff. “That’s fine,” Loki said gently. “Won’t take me long to catch up. Have you eaten?” Stephen shook his head and then remembered that Loki couldn't see him. “No,” he confessed. “Alright. What’s your address?” Loki asked. Stephen gave it to him and the other man said he’d be there in half an hour.

He was just starting to feel like this might have been a bad idea and he should just call back and tell the man not to come, when his doorbell rang. He managed not to run into anything on the way to the door, although he did steady himself for a moment, catching sight of himself in the hallway mirror. He cursed softly and took a split second trying and mostly failing to fix his hair.

He opened the door and lost his breath. The dark haired man was inches from his face, leaning casually against the doorframe with a takeout bag of Pho in hand. His hair was pulled back into a low bun, a dark leather jacket fitting perfectly across his lean shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly, his lips pulling up into a crooked smile. “Hi,” Stephen said, blinking owlishly. “Uh, come in.”

He managed to walk straight back into the kitchen, Loki trailing behind him. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said as he crossed into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Loki set a bag of takeout on the counter next to him, eyes drawn to the view like every other guest he’s had. He wandered over to the windows with a low whistle. “Damn,” he exclaimed. “How much money do you make to live here?”

Stephen chuckled, thankful that the first thing out of the man’s mouth hadn't been some bullshit condolences or placating remark. “A lot,” he confessed, grabbing a glass from the dishwasher. “You want a drink?” he asked, turning to find Loki with the bottle of bourbon in hand already. He raised the bottle in a wry salute before taking a swig. Stephen might have stared a little as the man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Damn, that’s good,” he murmured, glancing at the label and blanching a little as he read it. It was probably a very expensive bottle of bourbon, Stephen wasn’t sure.

“You got anything in your stomach besides three hundred dollar bourbon?” the man drawled as he crossed back into the kitchen. Shit, that was expensive. “Ummm,” Stephen stalled guiltily. Loki chuckled and plucked the glass from his hands, filling it from water from the fridge. “Start with that,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket and moving to hang it on one of the breakfast bar stools. “You look good, by the way,” Stephen said, downing the water and setting the glass down on the counter. He let his eyes quickly rove over the man’s tight fitting black jeans and the long sleeved grey shirt. He was wearing a heavy black leather watch on one wrist and one of those silver cuffs on the other.

He looked really good.

Loki chuckled, a light flush creeping up his neck. “You don’t look to bad yourself,” Loki said smoothly, leaning back on the counter opposite. Stephen snorted, knowing exactly how wrecked he looked. “Do you want to talk about it?” Loki asked softly and Stephen flinched back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nope,” he said stiffly, firmly, staring down at his feet. A beat and then a hand entered his periphery. Long fingers studded with silver wrapped around his forearm and squeezed gently. “Okay,” he heard the other man say softly and he glanced up into understanding green eyes. Something lurched in Stephen’s stomach and he blamed it on the alcohol. He sniffed, feeling his eyes start to sting. “Thanks,” he breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He felt Loki squeeze his arm one more time before stepping away. “Now,” the other man said, moving through his kitchen and beginning to open cupboards. “Where do you keep the bowls?”

 

  
The blinds started to open with a whir on their automatic timer and Stephen groaned. His head was pounding and his throat and mouth were so dry it felt like they were cracking. He rolled over, pinching the bridge of his nose as his stomach lurched. Thank god he wasn’t on call today. He was reaching for the remote to close the blinds again when a soft clinking in the kitchen caught his attention.

It wouldn't be Christine. He distinctly remembered blowing off Christine’s offer to come crash at her place, eat Chinese food, and binge watch The Office and the last time he had a one-night stand was—shit. Second time in two days he’d forgotten.

He sprang to his feet, immediately almost falling on his ass as the room spun around him. That’s when he realized he wasn't wearing any pants. He was in his undershirt and briefs. Running water and the soft sounds of splashing brought him back on task and he yanked on a nearby pair of sweats before stumbling out of the bedroom.

He rounded the corner to find Loki loading the last few dishes in his kitchen into the dishwasher, that grey top of his pushed up to his sleeves. He took a moment to just watch him move around the kitchen. It was an image Stephen could get used to, especially the way his lips pulled into that crooked smirk of his when he caught sight of Stephen. He had to shake himself a little, reminding himself that he barely knew the man. And yet, said man had just stayed the night. Shit, he had stayed the night.

“Morning,” Loki said, drying his hands on a nearby towel. “Hey,” Stephen drawled slowly, stepping further into the kitchen only to have a steaming mug of coffee into his hands. “I hope you don’t mind,” Loki said sheepishly. “I’m useless in the morning until I have a coffee, so I kinda raided your kitchen.”

“No, of course. I meant it when I said make yourself comfortable,” Stephen said with a wave of his hand, turning to dump far too much coffee into his coffee. “Hey, so, about last night” he began, drumming his fingers nervously on his mug. “Was I…I mean, did we….,” he fumbled, feeling like he was a bumbling teenager again as his headache began to creep down his neck. He felt his face grow hot as Loki’s little crooked smirk pulled into a full blown grin.

“No,” Loki said, finally taking pity on him. “No, we ate Pho and finished the bourbon and you passed out as soon as I got you into the bedroom.” Now Stephen really blushed, causing Loki’s grin to widen even further. “I’m not generally like…I’m normally better than that,” he insisted, already feeling like he's made the absolute worst impression on this very attractive man. “It’s okay, really,” Loki chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned up against the fridge in front of the doctor.

Stephen looked slightly up into those startling green eyes, twinkling with mischief and something else Stephen hadn’t seen in a long time, at least not directed at him. “Why did you stay?” he asked curiously.

“Because you asked me to,” was the simple reply.

Stephen blinked. Then he groaned. He let his head flop forward, his forehead gently thumping against the other man’s chest. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” he muttered against a shirt that smelled like pine and something vaguely smokey. He felt the man’s chest vibrate as he laughed. “I thought it was kinda sweet,” the taller man said.

He felt a hand close around his bicep as Loki manipulated his arm to see the inside of his newly tattooed bicep. “This is healing nicely,” he commented. “How’s it feel? Itchy?” Stephen shrugged, as best as he could with one arm raised out to the side and his head still pressed against Loki’s shoulder. “A little,” he mumbled. The artist chuckled again and Stephen felt a hand slide into his hair, nails scratching softly. He groaned again, a low hum vibrating deep in his throat.

Then he felt a hand settle lightly on his hip and a thrill rushed through his skin. He slowly straightened, eyes flicking up to meet the taller man’s. Twin emeralds burned hot with desire as they seemed to stare straight into Stephen’s soul. Stephen took a small step forward, lifting his chin ever so slightly to press his lips gently against Loki’s. Stephen slide his hand around to settle on the middle of Loki’s back as the other tangled itself in his black hair. The man tasted like coffee and artificial sweetener and his lips were sinfully perfect.

He leaned in, deepening the kiss as he felt Loki’s hand slide over his hips, fingertips just skimming under the waistband of his sweatpants. Stephen tightened the hand in Loki’s hair as he licked into the man’s mouth, pulling the dirtiest moan from him. Finally, he pulled away, reluctant with breath shaky and knees weak.

“Damn,” Loki whispered against his lips.

“You wanna…?” he asked, trailing off with an elegant incline of his head back towards the bedroom. “Yeah. You?” Stephen breathed. “Fuck yeah,” Loki gasped as he lunged forward and captured Stephen’s lips once again. Stephen hooked his fingers through the man’s belt loops and pulled him along as he walked backwards towards the bedroom. He managed not to trip them on the way, only bumping them into the walls once.

Loki inhaled sharply as Stephen rasped his teeth along his lower lip. “Jesus,” he groaned. Stephen chuckled, muttering “Not quite,” which earned him an eye roll and a swat on the hip. He growled as he slide his hands up under the other man's shirt, feeling every inch of warm, smooth skin. Loki pulled away briefly and allowed Stephen to yank the taller man’s shirt off. The neckline pulled roughly at the man’s long hair, letting it fall around his face in a tousled mess. Stephen reached up, brushing the locks out of his face with gentle fingers.

His eyes caught on swirling dull colours and geometric patterns and he stopped to stare at the tattoo he had seen only the barest glimpse of before. What he had thought were scales actually were. A giant geometrical snake tattooed in dull blue and soft yellow wrapped around his bicep and up over his shoulder, the head of the snake taking up space across the left side of the man’s chest. “Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching up to grasp the man’s bicep, running his thumb across the ink scales. “Yeah, Steve did that one,” Loki said. “My design, his work.”

“It’s stunning,” Stephen praised, leaning in close to mouth his way up the man’s neck as his fingers sought out his fly. “You have any more?” he asked softly, nipping along Loki’s jaw. “A few,” Loki groaned as he ground up against him eagerly. Stephen chuckled as he popped the last button open and slide a hand down the back of the man’s jeans to cup the his ass through his briefs. He felt cool fingers tease up his back as he rucked up the thin tank top. “Fair’s fair,” the dark haired artist snarked.

The shirt hadn't even hit the floor yet as Loki froze, eyes going wide and Stephen froze too. If he hadn’t been so hungover, if his head didn't feel like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, he would have been more aware. He would have remembered. He flinched a little at the taller man's sharp intake of breath.

But Loki strangely didn't say anything. He just reached up a hand and gently traced the thick ropy scar that dissected Stephen's sternum, where they had cracked him open in order to put him back together. His fingers danced across the other marks that spattered across his ribs, the pockmark scars from where they'd had to re-inflate his lungs. "Car accident, six years ago," Stephen finally whispered, when Loki’s questioning eyes flicked up to search his. ”Driving too fast on a rainy night. Flipped off a cliff and into the river."

"Fuck," Loki murmured, his hand coming to rest just over the doctor’s heart. Stephen wondered if he could feel it pounding away. It was a likely bet, by the way he could feel it thrumming in his throat. “Sounds like you had someone watching out for you that day,” the artist murmured. Stephen huffed a sad chuckle. “Yeah, I guess.” He held up a hand, turning it this way, examining the near invisible scars that laced his fingers. “I was arrogant and stupid," he confessed bitterly, but really sure why he was telling this man everything. "Was in rehab for six months before I could even hold a pen properly. Almost ruined my career.”

He shook himself both mentally and physically, pushing aside the gloomy cloud and sliding his hands back around Loki’s hips. Slowly Loki leaned in and pressed his lips to the middle of the scar. Stephen's breath hitched at the strange numb-yet-super-sensitive feeling of it. It all felt too intimate and too real and he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“It was a long time ago,” he said dismissively, looping his fingers through the other’s belt loops and yanking him forward roughly. Loki seemed to get the hint as his lips began to work their way up to his neck. Stephen gasped outright as he felt teeth bite down on the base of his neck. His eyes snapped open, catching sight of their reflection in the closet mirror.

"No fucking way," he breathed. “What...?" Loki started but broke off with an undignified squeak as he found himself spun swiftly around. Stephen kept his grip on the man's hips, holding him at arms length to get a better look.

That same broadsword tattoo that Stephen had seen hanging in the shop, the one that had caught his attention so raptly, traced down the man’s spine in all it’s detailed glory.

“Wow,” he breathed, tracing the runes on the sword’s handle with a careful touch. He felt the man shiver under his fingers and he squeezed his other hand, rubbing his thumb along the ridge of the man’s hipbone. “Stunning,” he whispered, meaning more than just the tattoo. He licked his lips as he ran a finger down the man’s spine.

“Thanks,” Loki muttered, blushing as his muscles twitched under Stephen’s touch. “Really, it’s even more brilliant in person. I’ve never seen anything like it.” he said as he crowded up against the younger man’s back. “You’re blushing,” he pointed out in amusement. This only prompted the man to blush further, a red tinge creeping down his pale chest. Stephen had never met someone who oozed such arrogance and self-confidence but at the same time was so stunningly self-conscious. He found it fascinating.

“Beautiful,” he murmured between kisses as he marched a line from the point of Loki’s shoulder up the side of his neck. “I could stare at it all day,” he whispered as he nipped at the edge of the man’s ear. The man was practically squirming, he looked so uncomfortable. Stephen wondered when the last time Loki had someone tell him he was beautiful. He didn’t have long to dwell on that unpleasant thought.

In the blink of an eye, Loki had whirled on him and Stephen found himself laid out flat across the bed. Loki loomed over him, a feral gleam in his eye. The artist’s forearms bracketed either side of his head, a knee pressed up between his legs hard enough for him to see stars.

“Stop talking,” Loki growled.

“Yessir,” Stephen murmured with a rebellious smirk. He slipped his hands down under Loki’s briefs to cup his bare ass before moving to catch Loki’s lips with his. After that, they didn’t talk for a very long time.

 

  
Stephen couldn't help but stare. The young artist lay facing away from him, on his side with his ribs slowly rising and falling as he breathed. His pale skin almost seemed to glow in the warm afternoon light, contrasting starkly with the black ink that traced his spine, with the blue and gold scales that wrapped around his shoulder.

In addition, the man also had a portrait of a Viking-style warrior on his calf; a stern faced visage with braided beard and ornate helm. The other calf bore a matching style, this one a woman with a winged helm and fierce eyes. The style was very similar to the portrait album he’d looked through at the parlour.

A thin track of words in a language Stephen didn’t recognize tracked up the back of Loki’s thigh, ending just before the swell of his ass. There were a few others scattered about his body; a small yet detailed rosebud low on his hip, the silhouette of a cat on the inside of his wrist that had always been covered by his watch, a blooming watercolored key on his ankle to name a few.

The name _Frigga_ was branded in small, neat letters just under his collarbone, right over his heart. Stephen had been curious about that one but decided not to ask after seeing the look in the man’s eyes when his fingers brushed over the letters.

Stephen let his eyes roam over the man’s lean body, appreciating the tantalizing mix of soft curves and hard lines. His long hair was splayed across the pillow, contrasting with the dove grey colour.

“You’re staring,” the artist murmured, not even bothering to roll over. “I can feel it.”

Stephen huffed a chuckle, scooting forward to wrap his arms around the dark haired man. Loki hummed contently and Stephen buried face against the man’s shoulder, tangling their bare legs together until it was difficult where one man ended and the other began. They lay there for a long while, Stephen perfectly content to do absolutely nothing. Eventually, his stomach decided to interrupt the peace. He felt more than heard Loki huff a chuckle, and he moved to untangle himself from the bed.

Stephen let him, albeit reluctantly. He watched as Loki sat up and stretched like cat, arms reached above his head as his shoulder popped with a dull crack. “I should get going,” he said softly as he briefly glanced back at Stephen, his hair hiding most of his face. Stephen felt an empty-feeling thrum deep in his chest as the idea of the man leaving. Part of him was screaming to not get attached. He barely knew the guy. He met him not even a month ago, hadn’t even gone on one proper date and he already was imagining waking up next to him, making him breakfast, taking him to Italy in the spring….

“You have work, I assume?” he said quietly, surprised as the man shook his head. “Store’s closed today for the stat,” he explained, throwing an arrogant smirk over his shoulder as he bent to snatch up his discarded briefs. “Still, don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he added briskly as he tugged them on. “Not that this hasn’t been fun but, you know how it goes.”

Stephen was familiar with masks. It’s how you kept the world at bay. When you've been hurt often enough, you learn how to put on a facade. It was the unaffected face that you showed the world, the face you used to hide the fact that you’re falling apart inside. It’s how you avoided being hurt again.

“Stay,” Stephen asked for the second time in less than two days.

Loki froze, deer-in-headlights eyes snapping up to his. He looked so comical, half bent over with one foot halfway into the leg of his jeans. Stephen sat up with a sigh, pulling the sheet around him. “Look, I know that we’re going about this all backwards,” he confessed, holding Loki’s confused and mildly panicked gaze. “But…I want to get to know you. Properly and with clothes on,” Stephen chuckled, inviting the other man in on the attempt at the joke. Loki didn’t even so much as crack a smile as he straightened, hands tightening around the black jeans. “And I do owe you dinner,” he added mischievously.

Loki licked his lips nervously, staring wildly down at Stephen. “I…,” he fumbled, but then the mask slammed back up into place. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said stiffly. “We had a good time. You got what you wanted. And you don’t owe me anything.” Stephen blinked, completely thrown as Loki slipped his jeans over his hips and began working on the buttons. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he exclaimed but Loki cut across him sharply, eyes flashing. “Look, I hate the pity dance.” Loki rolled his eyes at Stephen’s clearly puzzled expression. “You know, the half hearted promises that you feel you have to make. So don’t. Give it to me straight. Believe me, I can handle it. I’ve had a lot of practise.”

Stephen felt his eyebrows raise and the man standing before him flushed, clearly not meaning to have revealed that. “No need to get up,” Loki said stiffly as he tugged his shirt on. “I know my way out.” And with that, he strode out of the bedroom without a backwards glance.

Stephen just sat there, flinching a little as he heard the front door slam and the apartment descended into a stoney silence. “What the fuck,” Stephen groaned as he fell back across the bed and wondered where the hell just happened.

 

 

  
He didn’t hear anything from Loki for almost three weeks. He sent one text, the next day, asking for a chance to talk out what happened because clearly Loki got the wrong impression, or maybe Stephen read too far into everything. It was nothing but radio silence. He stopped by the coffee shop a couple times but Loki was never in next door when he arrived. Or if he was he wasn’t in plain sight. So Stephen accepted the condolences from Christine and moved on.

Today had been a shit day. First off, there had been a power outage and his phone died in the middle of the night. This meant his alarm didn’t go off so he couldn't stop for coffee on the way. Couple with his train was delayed by some suicidal pigeon and he was late for his shift. Of course, this would all happen on the day that the hospital’s coffee cart was closed and it would be a cold day in hell that Stephen Strange stooped to drinking the watery tar the cafeteria tried to pass off as coffee.

  
He was currently blinking down at a computer screen, watching as the words danced and blurred before his eyes. He was starting to get a headache. Pinching the bridge of his nose didn’t help so he tried squeezing his eyes shut. A soft scraping sound reached his ears and he opened his eyes to see a large steaming coffee cup with the _Nine Realms_ logo sitting in front of him. He closed his eyes again with a soft moan, snatching up the coffee. “Christine, you are a lifesaver,” he exclaimed as he took a long sip of the deliciously hot, perfectly caffeinated beverage.

“Again, not Christine.”

Stephen’s eyes snapped open. The dark haired artist lounged against the counter beside him, an easy smirk playing on the lips and posture exuding confidence. His eyes said anything but. “Hey,” Loki stated. Stephen said nothing in return, watching calmly as the other man grew more nervous as the silence went on. “Can we talk a sec?” he asked, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “In private?”

Stephen pushed off from the counter silently, leading the other man into an empty patient room. He leaned against the closed door as Loki stepped further into the room, nibbling on the corner of his thumb. “Look, I’m sorry,” Loki blurted out suddenly, staring down at his boots. “For the other day. I just…I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Stephen stated, focusing on the heat radiating into his palm from the coffee cup. “You weren’t interested in anything more and that’s fine—,”

“But it’s not fine,” Loki snapped, eyes flicking up to meet his. Stephen raised an eyebrow. “What I mean is,” Loki back peddled. “I am. I am interested.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Stephen said mildly, taking a sip of coffee. “I know, I know,” Loki said, scrubbing a hand over his face, raking it up through his hair. “I just freaked out…a little.” The artist finally admitted, holding Stephen’s gaze with what seemed like an enormous amount of effort. Stephen could see the toll being this vulnerable and honest was having on the man. “It was…nice, too nice,” Loki said painfully. “And I got scared and freaked out.”

“Why were you scared?” Stephen asked, setting his coffee aside on a nearby table. Loki shrugged, crossing long arms over his chest. “Doesn’t matter, that’s not the point,” he deflected but Stephen wasn’t having it. “Matters to me,” he said as he closed the distance between them, slowly as to not spook the dark haired artist. Silence ruled for a long beat before Loki finally broke it.

“It was nice,” he said again and Stephen took another step closer. He was almost close enough to touch now. “I haven't had nice like that in a long time,” he whispered, staring at his boots. “And you just…you make me run my mouth and tell you shit I shouldn’t and that scares me. It scares the shit out of me and when I’m scared I run and that’s what I did the other night and fuck!” The man was really getting worked up, eyes rolling as he ran nervous fingers through his hair. “See, that’s what I mean,” he snapped. “You just get me talking and I don’t fucking understand it and—mmfh!”

Stephen closed the last step between them swiftly pressed his lips against Loki’s. His hands reached up to gently cradle the man’s face as he kissed him. He pulled away slowly, softly, but only after he felt Loki’s hands settle lightly on his hips.

“Stop talking,” he whispered against the man’s mouth.

“I—,” Loki began but Stephen just leaned in again and swallowed the words as they tried to leave the man’s tongue. It was at this time that Stephen’s pager decided to beep. “Shit,” he breathed as he pulled away, reaching down to check the number. Loki rocked back a half step, scrubbing a hand over his eyes with a sniff. Stephen pretended not to notice. “I have to go,” he said, looking up at Loki with reluctance. “Go,” Loki insisted, flapping a hand in his direction, most of his composure having been regained. “Go save lives.”

Stephen hesitated, then pulled the artist in for a searing kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll call you,” Stephen promised, lingering even as his pager beeped insistently again. “You better,” Loki said with that little crooked smirk.

“After all, you owe me dinner.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of fell in love with this AU, so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Stay tuned for future chapters as this AU may pop up again for another one-shot! xxx


	4. Find My Last Words On The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen Strange was expecting this. What he wasn't expecting was what he saw when he opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR SPOILERS!!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

"There was no other way," Stephen Strange said softly as a strange tingling sensation rippled across his skin. He didn't try and fight it. He knew what was about to happen, had seen it in thousands of different possible futures but this was the only one where they had a chance. The price would be high and the chance was small, but it was still a chance. The only chance. He took a breath and before he could do more than blink, everything dissolved into darkness.

 

Stephen opened his eyes. Everything was a wash of pale colours that swirled and danced before his eyes. He took a slow experimental breath, feeling his lungs expand against his ribcage. He blinked again. Nothing changed. He glanced at his hands, taking comfort in the familiar scars that traced each finger.

He didn’t feel dead.

The ground around him rippled, reflecting the colours around him like water and yet his clothes were dry. He reached out with a tentative hand, his fingers brushing over the smooth glass-like surface. Little waves rolled out from under his touch, spreading out from his hand like after a rock was dropped in a pond.

He gingerly got to his feet, turning slowly to take in his surroundings. Nothing was in sight except for the pale, swirling haze that undulated with different colours. Stephen frowned. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the burned out remains of Titan, watching helplessly as those around him dissolved into ash. Tony Stark’s eyes had bored into his with a shared helplessness.

_“There was no other way.”_

A sudden wind ruffled through his hair and Stephen startled as he heard his own voice whispering around him. The words fading and echoing back at him in an unending loop. Then as suddenly as it started, it stopped and silence descended again.

Stephen’s fingers found his sling ring and focused in on himself, gathering his powers. His hands moved calmly as he began to conjure a portal. Nothing happened. No sparks, no light, not so much as a flicker. Frowning, Stephen tried a different spell, to the same effect. It was as if the magic simply fell through his fingers like water and he unable to keep hold of it.

Finally, he gave up. “Guess I really am dead,” he murmured, feeling his cloak flutter slightly around his ankles. It was then that he realized the cloak hadn’t moved on its own. Its movement was prompted by the wind and not by its own vocation. It hung like a dead weight from his shoulders, nothing more than the cloth it pretended to be.

In all the possible futures Stephen had seen, there had only been one where they had won. He had followed that path. There hadn’t been any other choice.

_“There was no other way.”_

This time he didn’t startle as his own voice whispered in his ear. For everything he had seen, he hadn’t seen this place. He had no idea where he was, or if there was any way of escape. One thing he was certain about was that he wouldn't find any answers simply standing here. With a sigh, he picked a direction at random and began to walk.

  
He walked and walked, the ground silently rippling underneath him. The terrain remained undisturbed around him, ever unchanging and constant. The wind kept bringing his last words to him. They swirled around his head, taunting him, mocking him. Sometimes he’d hear other voices, so faint and soft that he wasn’t even sure he’d actually heard them.

_“This is no place to die.”_

_“Aw, man.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

He wasn’t sure how far he walked. It could have been hours or only mere moments. There was no way to tell. The light never changed, every muted and soft like sun through fog. The landscape also remained unchanged, ever flat, ever still. He could be walking in circles for all he knew. Yet he didn’t grow tired.

Stephen closed his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose as the whispers returned, faint and almost unintelligible yet so incredibly annoying. The wind was really blowing now, whipping his cape in a frenzy around him.

_“You will never be a god.”_

Stephen froze. Words not his own echoed clear as day, as if the owner stood right beside him, whispering right into his ear. What’s more, he knew that voice. Stephen whipped around, trying to voice the source of the sound but as ever, the glass-like ground just stretched unchanging in all directions around him. “Hello?” he called out, finding his voice snatched up by the wind and pulled away even as he spoke.

He began walking again, only to have the voice echo again, softer, fainter. _“You will never be a god.”_ He turned back around, facing full into the wind. The words whispered louder now, growing steadily as he walked into the wind.

The wind grew in intensity until it was difficult to walk and Stephen found himself leaning fully into it. His eyes were watering so badly he could barely see, and thus didn’t see the dark shape on the ground until he was practically tripping over it. He swore, the wind whisking away the words even as they left his tongue. The dark shape was a man, dressed in singed leathers and lying crumpled on his side. He dropped to a knee as the words assaulted his ears.

_“You will never be a god.”_

He swallowed thickly as he carefully rolled the man over. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the God of Mischief. Loki’s skin was ashy grey, veins bulging in his forehead. The whites of his eyes were flecked with red, his gaze glassy and staring. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, which hung slightly open and gave him a slightly startled expression.

_“You will never be a god!”_

The choked whisper seemed to roar in his ear and Stephen closed his eyes, resting a hand gently on the Liesmith’s chest. He had never liked the man, but neither had he truly wished him dead. Then suddenly his hand was dropping through empty air. His eyes snapped open in surprise. Loki’s body was gone, as if it had never been there.

Stephen barely had a breath to wonder before a pair of boots stepped into his vision and his eyes scanned up to a familiar disgruntled face. “What are you doing here?” Loki sneered down at him, his arms crossed over his lean chest.

“I…,” Stephen faltered, his brain not quite catching up with his eyes. “What is this place?” Loki scoffed, eyes rolling back in his skull. “How should I know?” he snapped. “You’re the Sorcerer Supreme. Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

“What are you doing here?” Stephen asked pointedly, staring up at the other man. Something dark flashed through Loki’s eyes, his shoulders tightening. “Thanos,” he spat quietly under his breath. Suddenly, everything clicked and it all made sense. “He found the last stone,” he said softly, watching as Loki’s eyes widened in shock. “All of them?” the other man breathed. “What, did you all just roll over and let him have them?!” Stephen swallowed down the bitterness and anger that threatened to choke him. “There was—,” he began.

“ _‘There was no other way’_ , yes I know,” Loki snapped impatiently. “I’ve been hearing you yammering those words in my ear for ages now but what does it mean? No other way, _what_?” Stephen swallowed, sitting back on his knees as he stared at the rippling ground. “I saw thousands of possible futures,” he said, watching the way the ground rippled gently under Loki’s boots as the man shifted his weight. “We only had one chance and I had to take it. This was the only way.”

“At what cost?” he heard the dark haired man ask. His voice was quiet, the question almost tentative, yet Stephen still flinched. 

A long moment passed, broken only by the silence of the wind. Then a pale hand appeared in front of Stephen. He glanced up startled, into a pair of brilliant green eyes. Puzzled, he took the offered hand and let the Liesmith pull him to his feet. He stared slightly up at the other man, a question in his eyes. Was it his imagination or did the taller man flush a little. “We’re both dead,” Loki said with a smirk, any trace of embarrassment covered up. “Might as well stick together.”

_“Steve?”_

Both men turned sharply, looking full face into the wind. It was so strong that it whipped Stephen's cloak around his ankles and pushed Loki's hair straight back from his face, dark locks rippling like snakes. _“Steve?”_ the wind whispered again. Stephen returned Loki’s sharp gaze with a slow shrug. “Might as well,” he said, echoing the man’s earlier words. The long-haired man huffed a long-suffering sigh before gesturing gracefully before him with a small mocking bow. “After you, oh Sorcerer Supreme,” he sneered, yet without the usual sharp edge to his words, making them seem more teasing than mocking.

Stephen shook his head as he lead the way. A small smile threatened the corner of his lips as the other man fell easily into step with him. Maybe death wouldn’t be so lonely after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this doesn't exactly track because Loki died before Thanos had the Soul Stone, which is a theory I'm hearing, but whatever. It popped into my head so ignore anything that doesn't track. Yay, AU! Hope you liked it. Feedback is my fairy dust. Let me know if you're liking what I'm writing so I know what to write more of!!


	5. In Perfect Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you?” Stephen snapped at the stranger who sat frozen and confused on the bed. “What have you done with Loki?"

  
Stephen pretended not to notice the light touch that skimmed up the inside of his ankle. He slowly chewed, fork dangling between his long fingers as he stared calmly across the table at his dining companion. The other dark haired man sitting across from him didn’t give any indication that he was currently sliding his foot higher and higher up the Sorcerer Supreme’s leg.

“I never asked how your visit to Norway went,” Stephen said simply. Loki hummed as he swallowed and set his cutlery down. “Nothing much to report,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair casually like his toes weren’t curling into the muscles of Stephen’s inner thigh. “The settlement is growing swiftly and negotiations with the UN are set to be completed by the end of the week.”

“And what of Thor?” he asked cautiously as he pushed his plate aside. The topic of the blonde man was always a sensitive one around the other sorcerer. He felt Loki tense minutely against his leg before his actions smoothed back into cat-like grace, his foot sliding impossibly higher. Stephen stifled a groan. The man was unfairly flexible.

“My brother is fine,” Loki said, voice stiff even as his body lounged loosely in his chair. His tone ended any and all other questions on the subject of Thor. “And you?” Stephen asked, catching Loki’s foot before it ran out of leg and moved on to other body parts. “You must be tired after your trip.” Loki hummed contentedly as Stephen ran his thumbs firmly along the arch of his foot. “Not really,” the man replied, staring across the table through his eyelashes with a matching smirk.

 

 

It was late, very late. It could have been described as early but either way Stephen was jolted awake. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what had startled him from sleep but a shift might have been accurate. It was like the feeling when you expect only one more step and there is actually two. Stephen’s stomach flipped in a swooping feeling before the energies in the room seemed to settle.

He blinked into the darkness, feeling nothing amiss anymore. He checked the wards on the Sanctuary out of habit but they were all still in place. They had not been disturbed in the slightest by whatever had woken the sorcerer. He glanced to the other side of the bed where Loki was sleeping soundly. His back was to Stephen, covers draped teasingly low over his hips. Stephen could just see the outline in the low glow of the streetlights. If the other man hadn’t been woken, whatever Stephen had felt clearly wasn’t a threat. Carefully, as to not wake the other, he slide closer, pressing his chest against the other’s back. Loki shifted, a soft hum vibrating in a higher register than Stephen was used to hearing. He stifled a chuckle, gently running a hand up and over Loki’s side.

His hand glided along the curved hip, far softer and shapely than he remembered. He was distracted from that thought as Loki rolled over, hooking a leg over Stephen’s as he buried his hands in the sorcerer’s hair. Stephen’s hand ghosted up Loki’s back, frowning as his fingers tangled in hair far longer than it should be. “Did your hair grow or something?” he murmured into Loki’s shoulder as he worked his lips up the sorcerer’s neck. Loki made a confused noise as Stephen kissed along the man’s jaw.

He paused, not encountering the familiar soft stubble that should be there. Loki’s skin was silky smooth, the angle of his jawline soft and foreign-feeling. Stephen paused, pulling away slightly. Long dark lashes pressed against soft cheeks as bright eyes scrunched shut against the light. A small, slender nose wrinkled in discomfort as plump rosebud lips pulled into a grimace. “ ’s too early,” a soft husky voice asked in a register several octaves above what Stephen had become accustomed to. “Go back to sleep.”

Within an instant, Stephen was out of bed and on his feet, hands flying in complex patters. Copper sparks flew as he pulled a defensive spell around himself. The woman in the bed blinked up at Stephen in confusion. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep and confusion. With a thought, Stephen brought the lights up to full blast. The stranger sat up, long ebony hair falling over her chest like a waterfall as she squinted into the brightness. A small part of Stephen’s brain had to admit that she was beautiful. Smooth alabaster skin, full lips, sharp cheekbones that looked vaguely familiar. Long graceful fingers and slender legs teased out from under the sheets.

“Who are you?,” he snapped at the stranger who sat frozen and confused on the bed. Even in the low light he could see her eyes widen in shock and confusion. “Stephen, what—,” she began and then paused, a hand flying to her throat as if recognizing her voice for the first time. “Oh no,” she breathed, staring down at herself. “No, no, no, no.”

“Who are you?” Stephen hissed again, feeling slightly off balance in wake of the stranger’s obviously growing distress. “What have you done with Loki?” At the mention of the name, the stranger’s eyes clenched closed, her body going very still. “Stephen,” she said softly, hair falling forward to half obscure her face. “Please, just listen,” she whispered but Stephen wasn’t in the mood for listening. “Who are you?” he hissed. “How did you get in here? What do you what?!”

“Strange, just look!” she shrieked, eyes snapping up to meet his. Stephen froze. “Look at me!” This time Stephen really did look. Silence echoed in the room between them, broken only by the soft crackle of his magic and her harsh, barely controlled breathing. And the realization of what he was looking at crashed over him all at one. He let his magic slip from his fingers as he stared in shock. Bright cat-like green eyes stared hotly up at him. Behind the rage, the fear, the desperation, Stephen knew those eyes.

“L—Loki?” Stephen whispered. Over-bright eyes threatened to spill as the woman nodded stiffly. “I…I don’t understand,” he breathed. Loki _(Loki?!)_ took a breath, something half way between a soft gasp and a sob. Stephen moved to sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand gently atop Loki’s slender one. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said as reassuringly as he could. Loki’s eyes flicked up to his, something bright and hopeful sneaking into the corners. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out,” he said with a gentle smile. “We’ll fix this, I promise.”

“Fix this,” Loki whispered, an odd tone that Stephen couldn’t place laced through the words. “Yeah,” Stephen said, feeling Loki grow tenser by the moment. He laced his fingers through Loki’s, trying to reassure his lover. “Whatever did this to you, we'll find out. We'll get you back to normal.”

And just like a door being slammed shut, something shuttered over Loki’s eyes, snuffing out that little spark. They grew cold and harsh and before Stephen could blink Loki had pulled from his touch and was gone. Stephen stared in blank shock at the open door. Then the second part of the puzzle clicked into place.

“Oh,” Stephen said to the empty room.

 

 

It took a bit of searching to find the other sorcerer. When Loki didn’t want to be found, Loki wouldn’t be found. Stephen had tried to spell cast for him _(her?)_ but Loki had wards up and Stephen couldn’t find anything. Eventually, Stephen slipped up onto the roof, seeing a familiar silhouette outlined against the city skyline. The shoulders were once again broader, hair shorter, profile stronger.

Loki didn’t move as Stephen walked deliberately up beside him. This was the face Stephen had come to know as well as his own. Loki was dressed in a loose sweater and soft pants, his feet bare where he sat crosslegged on the corner of a parapet. It struck him then that what he had just witnessed and learned about the other man made perfect sense. Graceful and sensual yet made equally of iron strength, that was the man before him.

Stephen had always marvelled on how balanced Loki was, perfectly comfortable with both his masculine and feminine sides. He wielded his magic, which Stephen learned had long been considered a woman's weapon on Asgard, as easily as he wielded a sword. During the first month of Loki living with him in the Sanctum, Stephen discovered that the other sorcerer was able to wield artifacts specifically keys to women with ease. It had come as quite a shock and Loki had just shrugged it off with a vague explanation about being balanced. And it had made sense. Loki was the epitome of balance, for all his emotions never were. Now he knew that it was a bit more complicated than that.

Stephen knew the man had heard him but he made no move to acknowledge Stephen’s presence. He leaned casually against the stone in front of the other sorcerer, taking him in. “I’m sorry,” Loki finally said, soft and hoarse. “Sometimes I can’t control it. When I feel safe or—,” Loki cut himself off with a swallow, his guarded and giving nothing away. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

The words hit like ice up under Stephen’s ribs and he realized how monumentally he had misread the situation, how badly he had fucked up. He stifled a sigh. He wasn’t good at dealing with his own emotions, let alone someone else’s. “I’m not always the most observant or the quickest on the draw,” he began, unsure of how to even begin this conversation. Loki sniffed dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he said flatly. Stephen huffed a sigh. He moved to perch on the inch of ledge left to him beside Loki’s hip. He could feel the tension radiating from the other man, the urge to run away again barely being held in check.

“I’m an idiot,” he stated.

Loki didn’t move, refused to look at him, but Stephen felt something in the other man pause. He reached up and gently slid a hand around Loki’s bicep, tracing the line of tense muscle with his thumb. “I’m and idiot and I’d like the opportunity to apologize face to face,” he finished pointedly.

He watched Loki’s throat bob as he swallowed. Stephen waited and waited and then Loki slowly vanished in a glow of light. The illusion melted away under his hand and Stephen turned to see the real Loki standing a few feet away. His arms were crossed defensively over his chest, jaw stiff and eyes wary.

Stephen slowly made his way across, stopping in front of the other sorcerer. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I jumped to conclusions and hurt you in the process. I’m so sorry but believe me when I say I am okay with whatever that was and I just want to understand. So talk to me. Help me understand.” He waited, but Loki said nothing. He kept staring pointedly past Stephen but cracks were starting to appear in the armour. Stephen took another step forward, coming within inches of touching.

“I see you,” he whispered.

A single tear slipped through Loki’s iron control and coursed down his pale cheek. Stephen reached a finger up and gently wiped it away. Loki’s breath hitched and as if the touch broke the spell, his eyes flicked up to meet Stephen’s.

“I’m right here,” Stephen promised. “I’m not going anywhere.” A hand latched itself onto the front of his shirt and slowly, like you would treat a wounded animal, Stephen slowly drew Loki into his arms. He could feel the man trembling against him and did nothing but hold him. Slowly the tremors stopped but Loki made no move to pull away and Stephen was in no rush to let him. Finally Loki pulled away with a deep, shaky breath.

“It’s..I.. _she’s_ ,” he said in a soft hesitant voice, “She’s part of who I am.”

“Then I look forward to meeting her properly,” Stephen said with a small smile. Loki’s breath hitched again, his eyes over-bright and threatening to spill again. Then his lips were against Stephen’s and if the kiss tasted a little salty, Stephen didn’t mind a bit.

 

 

It was almost a month later and Stephen was perched in the library, an old text open in front of him as he worked to translate Ancient Enochian into English. It wasn’t particularly challenging, just more time consuming. It was late and the words were starting to blur. Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

Soft footsteps were his only warning before hands were sliding across his shoulders, kneading and massaging the tense muscles. Stephen didn’t even bother to stifle the groan as he leaned back in his chair. Slowly the tension that had taken up residence in his neck released and the headache that had been threatening his temples disappeared. He hummed his gratitude, reaching up a hand to the hand resting on his shoulder.

He paused as his touch found far more slender fingers than he was expecting, nails longer and more delicate. He glanced behind him, looking up to a oval face with full lips, mermaid-long dark hair, and guarded cat-like green eyes.

“Is this okay?” Loki asked in a soft whisper.

Stephen didn’t bother answering in words. Instead he stood, stepping slowly around the chair. It was an odd thing, not to look up to Loki but instead to look slightly down. Stephen gently turned Loki’s hand and pressing his lips against her palm.“Beautiful,” he whispered, holding Loki’s hand against his cheek. A small timid smile pulled at Loki’s lips, eyes shining with everything she couldn’t say. “Beautiful,” Stephen whispered again as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Loki’s.

 

 


End file.
